


love is rich with honey and venom

by meliofeli



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Elias is nosey, M/M, funeral fic, shrodinger marital status, weird dynamic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meliofeli/pseuds/meliofeli
Summary: “Naomi Herne,” Elias offers, as he discreetly slides up to Peter, not quite close enough for their shoulders to brush, “she would have been Evan's wife, eight months from now.”“Shame. Evan may have fought all his life not to be a servant of the Lonely, he's nurtured his offering quite well.”Elias invites himself to Evan's funeral.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	love is rich with honey and venom

**Author's Note:**

> 30% of the time spent on this fic was spent trying to figure out a functional genealogy for the Lukases.

It is unsurprisingly easy to locate Peter within a sea of austere family members. Besides being a mountain of a man, remarkably tall even for a Lukas, the scent of sulfur and brine sticks to him like an oil spill.

Not to mention only two Lukases in this generation have consistently defied the family tradition by being exceptionally chatty, and one of them is currently resting in a coffin. Said man's guest has just arrived at the estate, it seems. Weeping, wind-swept, soaked through. Poor little thing.

“Naomi Herne,” Elias offers, as he discreetly slides up to Peter, not quite close enough for their shoulders to brush, “she would have been Evan's wife, eight months from now.”

“Shame. Evan may have fought all his life not to be a servant of the Lonely, he's nurtured his offering quite well.”

“She is marked, but I believe her proclivity for loneliness was ulterior to her involvement with Evan.”

“Was it? Well, even then, it was his death that brought her to the altar, so in a way it does count as a success for him.”

“Or a failure.”

“Or a failure,” Peter amends.

Side by side they watch Noah Lukas—Evan's father and Peter's cousin in law, Elias reminds himself after checking his mental map of the Lukas genealogy—greet the tall young woman at the entrance of the manor, if 'greet' is even the appropriate term given how curtly he addresses her. Her eyes are reddened with grief and she doesn't seem to notice the wrongness in the dozens of eyes watching her from every corner and alcove like so many vultures. In her defence, no one does.

Those eyes trail her with rapt attention mainly out of curiosity but not without a certain malevolence as she penetrates their sanctum. Even unaware, her shoulders hunch lower with every step, perhaps an unconscious reaction to the weight of those piercing stares. Elias certainly understands the sentiment as he has been subjected to that same weight for almost two centuries now. It does take some getting used to.

Noah and Naomi both disappear around a corner taking with them the sizzling silence of the family. His Eyes still distractedly focused on her, Elias turns his two eyes to Peter.

Goodness.

He shall give his beard a much needed trim later.

“Unfortunate circumstances for our retrouvailles, I'll admit,” he says, briefly reaching up with one hand to gauge the situation on Peter's jaw. Quite dire, indeed.

“A pleasure to see you too, Elias. How long has it been? Three months? Four?”

“Five months, two weeks. Not that I'm counting.”

“Right, right. It's all rather sudden, I haven't had time to prepare much of anything,” he says, rubbing a broad palm over his own unkempt beard. “But I'm not complaining. We can head back to London afterwards, unless you have changed your mind about post funeral sex.”

“I'm a busy man, Peter. I'm afraid my schedule is too tight to cram in a 'mistake with my ex-husband' this evening.”

“Think of it as an 'informal meeting with a patron of your institute'. I wasn't supposed to be back for another two months, I'll probably be gone come morning light.”

“Have the grace to dine and wine me beforehand, then.”

“Since I'm the one whipping out the wallet, surely I can lay the terms of our meeting?”

“You may try.”

Something pulls at Elias’ senses. He looks up to one of the balconies and falls into the glacial blues of the Lukas matriarch. Elias smiles and offers a diplomatic nod of greeting, which doesn't quite garner the anticipated reaction. Delilah's scowl deepens and flickers to Peter, looking for all the world like she wants to snatch her eldest away from him. Mother and son stare at each other for a moment before Delilah finally turns away to disappear in the shadows of the balcony.

Her disapproval is quite unnecessary, Elias thinks, as it was a breach in filial piety that had robbed her of four children, not marital commitment.

Well, post-marital, currently.

A gust of wind slipping in through the door has Elias shivering, and Peter leads them further into the house, which isn’t necessarily warmer than the entrance but the consideration is appreciated nonetheless. Elias’ Eyes wander around the manor in chase of something to nibble on, more out of boredom than any real need to feed his patron.

Nathaniel is a whirlwind, glimpsed around every corner yet never caught long enough for more than an offhand greeting. With Delilah disinclined to manage any event that brings her family together, and Noah emotionally indisposed to make the necessary arrangements, as the second child the arduous responsibility of handling the paperwork and gathering elusive family members naturally befell him. Which isn't to say he was particularly dedicated to the task.

Salome and Galatea, Peter's two remaining sisters are noticeably absent; they have long disavowed and fled the family. Predictably Nathaniel hasn't tried to find either of them, the same way he hadn't bothered trying to contact them to inform them of Judith and Aaron's funerals—interestingly enough, both were struck down by the very same congenital heart disease that took Evan away; perhaps the retribution of the One Alone for those who would disregard their inheritance.

Discounting business appointments with Nathaniel, Elias would usually only meet with the rest of the Lukases for funerals. Although he had expected to be back in Moorland house in the years following the doyen's passing, he had thought the family would be burying the matriarch by then, not the benjamin of the litter. A shared sentiment, from what he can See. The family was quite prepared to crown a new head, had the ceremony and speeches long rehearsed and polished.

None of them quite know what to do now. They lurk about the house, a flock of estranged ravens offering neither condolences nor comfort to each other. Many of them had only ever known Evan alive as a newborn, and promptly forgot about him when he was cast away, if not sooner.

Even Peter, whom Elias recalls having nurtured a discrete fondness for Evan's wit and loquacity the rare times they met at family gatherings, doesn't express much regret for the loss of his nephew beyond what blood ties demand of him. Delilah is similarly entirely apathetic to Noah's grief. Unsurprisingly so; she hadn't hesitated a second to ostracise two of her own children when their faith and commitment to their patron proved weaker than her own, and hadn't batted an eye when two others fled the house overnight never to return.

It seems Noah shall be alone in the mourning of his youngest. He had, after all, married into the Lukas family. Although he had through the decades been drowned in the family's mores, emotional detachment hadn't been systematically drilled into his character from childhood.

An insistent prickling tears Elias from his musings. Peter's gaze is a blade against his neck, a pleasant, steadfast pressure more tease than threat.

“Yes?”

“It's not often I see you in black,” Peter says. He runs a cold hand down Elias’s spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps underneath the soft material of his suit. “It makes you seem more…”

“Ominous?”

“Subdued.”

Elias huffs a laugh. “I do know how to blend in when the occasion asks for it.”

“You'd never blend in our lot. Have you stolen a statement from one of ours since you've arrived? You reek of the Watcher.”

“I should hope so. Let it be known how devoted a servant I am to my patron.”

“And how hazardous your fanaticism makes you to other avatars.”

“Pots and kettles, Peter,” he admonishes, “But no, I haven't tried to get any statement from your family, if you're truly worried about them. Although there aren't any useful secrets that I couldn't extract directly from you.”

“I'm glad I remain a favourite in this respect at least.”

“If only you didn't spend so much time at sea hidden in that bundle of statics you call a ship...”

“Why, Elias, have you missed me that much? If you'd said something sooner I would be warming your bed by now.”

 _Our bed_ , Elias doesn't correct, though Peter hears it all the same; it is routine by now. It satisfies him as much as it annoys Peter to know that they have anchored themselves in each other deeply enough for them to call anything _theirs_. He particularly enjoys the way it aggravates Peter to know that he can’t dismiss it as an inconvenience, because it is too solid a truth.

And indeed, they shall go back to _their_ home afterwards. The quiet, somber procession done, family members will disappear one by one until only Delilah remains in the deserted manor.

Elias and Peter will be the first to eclipse themselves. They will reconvene in their apartment and, the doors barely closed, their hands will grab and tug and tear at clothes and skin alike. They will tumble into their too large bed, whose springs will creak too loud after too many months passed without bearing their combined weight. Evening will bleed into night, Elias' voice will break as Peter presses him onto the mattress and in return bares his mind for Elias’ Eyes to feast on. When the chill settles back on Elias' skin, Peter will be long gone, splitting their passion in two perfect halves of longing.

“So? Anything interesting happen in that institute of yours while I was away?” Peter asks, true to his status of token chatterbox in a taciturn family.

“Gertrude Robinson is dead.”

“Ah. Condolences,” Peter says, in a voice that couldn’t be more apathetic. “You’ve appointed a new archivist I suppose. Who was it Gertrude was talking about? Sam? Sarah? Sofia?”

“Sasha James, but no, she’s too astute. Jonathan Smith, you may have heard of him, he was in the Research section before.”

“Does he know what he’s doing?”

“Who knows,” Elias says, ignoring Peter’s subsequent _you do_. “I’ve appointed a new team of assistants for him as well. An interesting lot, I believe one of them has quite an acute affinity for the Lonely, perhaps you’d like to meet him.” He sends a pointed glance at Peter. “If only you’d come to the institute in the first place.”

Peter tenses noticeably. “You know if you need to discuss budget planning you can always turn to Nathaniel. He’s a lot more available than I am, what with not being a ship captain and all.”

“Peter, I’m generous enough to let you shirk your marital duties—”

“Generous? You shirk them too.”

“—I’d be grateful if you didn’t delegate your office duties to any family member whose name you happen to remember.”

Peter sighs the sigh of the damned. “I regret starting that line of conversation.”

“I’ve missed you too, my dear.”

Peter tucks his chin further into the high collar of his coat. Elias knows his own scent still clings to it, making it impossible for Peter to hide from him in there. Perhaps he isn’t trying to.

Around them, the Lukases move as one towards the room where Evan’s body reposes. He and Peter arrive in time to see Naomi Herne practically flee from the room, a terror she’s never since then known oozing from her like tar.

Nathaniel follows, his steps unsteady, his hand trembling on his cane, yet unshakeable in his resolution to isolate his family for the last rites if for nothing else. He turns his hard gaze to Elias, full of accusation in its coldness.

Elias has long overstayed his welcome—by design, and by a hundred years at least—still he knows when to cave, and crossing the future doyen of the family will only assure future unpleasantness, possibly the defunding of the institute if Nathaniel is feeling particularly vindictive.

He reaches out with his Eyes, and briefly pushes in Naomi Herne's mind the knowledge of...not the institute itself, but of a place where she will be heard. Perhaps the Lonely will spare Naomi Herne, perhaps it will mark her deep enough to haunt her dreams, haunt every waking moment, sharp enough to push her into _his_ sanctum.

He just has time to plant the seed in her psyche that Nathaniel addresses him for the first time since he arrived. When he speaks, his voice rings in the silence of the house, “Funerals are a family business.”

“Many of which I've been invited to before.”

“As a member of the family by marriage, which you aren’t anymore. Or am I mistaken?”

It's Peter, as usual, who bridges the sliver between them, his hand snaking around Elias' waist to hold onto his arm, very conspicuously indeed.

“Come now, Nathaniel, he knows how to make himself small.”

“Peter—”

“Just as well, I was about to leave,” Elias interrupts before they draw more attention to themselves; he is one to watch, not to be watched. Either way, he has seen enough and he’s cast his line, he doesn't need to linger any longer. To Nathaniel—to Peter—he says, “I have a meeting with a patron of the institute to attend this evening in any case.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you've enjoyed it, they make me happy :3


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